The Memorial
by Athena02
Summary: "From Aden, he learns of The Teacher, patient and kind. From Indra, he learns of The Warrior Queen, relentlessly ferocious. But when the carver asks about Lexa, Wanheda will not speak. Her eyes flicker with a light, then the spark dies, and the carver is sent away." Years after her death, the 13 Clans build a memorial to their fallen Heda. Clexa. 307 canon (I'm sorry).


The Memorial

Athena02

"I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free." – Michelangelo

Inspired by: apurrcat dot tumblr dot com slash post slash 145153055132 slash papurrcat-tried-sculpting-for-the-first-time

xXxXx

It has been five years from that terrible year. The dark period of war, and rebellion, and pain. After the death of Heda. Five years after she paid the price for 'jus nou drein jus daun' and planted the seeds of peace and progress which–watered with the blood of rebellion as the Old Ways died kicking and screaming–yielded a new Golden Age. A lasting Kongeda, Skaikru living as equals with the other clans. Peace, and prosperity for all. Children growing up to thrive, and never tasting the bitterness of an early death or hardship.

Heda Aden quietly sends a messenger to a distant clan, sending for their most gifted stone carver. The carver arrives quietly. He's heard the legends, but in talking with those who knew Heda Leksa best, He begins to understand the woman behind the stories…

From Aden, they learn of The Teacher, patient and kind. Firm and objective in her relaying of difficult lessons, but also offering comfort and solace when the knowledge that the price of duty upon young shoulders could be too much to bear. Of a leader who lit a torch and pointed the way, strong in her belief that salvation lay ahead at the end of a dark path, if only others would follow and believe…even if she knew she would likely not reach the end of the path with them. Of a woman whose heart was big enough to share the glimmers of a mother's love he had never known.

From Indra, they learn of The Warrior Queen, relentlessly ferocious. The warrior raised from birth to thrill at the sound of the battle horns, the shouts of "Kom War!" Of a leader committed to the well-being of her warriors, crafting masterful strategy to use her forces as sparingly as possible, but to great effect when needed. Of the Heda who bore every hardship–every cold night, every pouring rainstorm on the long campaign march, every period of scare rations–alongside her warriors, knowing that leadership may be her birthright, but that bearing these burden alongside her gonas was the coin by which she bought the right to ask them to die for her. Of a woman unmatched with daggers and swords, whose presence on the blood-soaked fields had turned the tide of many battles and inspired a nation. Of a woman who, though she could kill at the turn of a hand, knew the value of mercy. Of when to stay her hand rather than strike. Of the warrior Indra–among the best of a martial clan–wished that she could even began to have emulated.

And from Wanheda…

Wanheda has spoken of Heda's legacy in the past. It was her iron will that carried a divided people through a long and bloody civil war. It was her voice, ringing out among the shouting ambassadors that reminded them of the path Heda had shown, and the price for falling back to the Old Ways of revenge and blood for blood. It was her actions, her commitment, that ensured Heda had not died in vain. All this is well known.

But when the carver asks about Lexa, Wanheda will not speak. Her eyes flicker with a light, then the spark dies, and the carver is sent away.

He returns day after day, but Wanheda sends him away each time.

The carver sets to his work. Slowly, the massive block of stone in The Commander's Grove not far from the front gate of Polis begins to take shape. A rough outline appears; a strong yet beseeching figure urging contemplation and steadfastness.

Wanheda's voice is quiet, yet it pierces the low noise of the Grove, silencing the birds and the tapping of the carver's chisel. She has come to walk the Grove, and the sight of the figure emerging from the stone has crumbled the last barrier around her heart.

From Wanheda, the carver learns of Lexa. About the way her too-rare smile brought out the best in those who saw it. Of the tears she would shed at the thought of her people, afraid for their future. Of the way her skin was patterned with memorials, and reminders, and lessons learned. Of the way she loved: fiercely, and wholly, and with every last measure of devotion until the moment she breathed her last against her lover's lips and then Beyond. Of how she would be waiting on The Far Shore, to hear about all her people had accomplished and the peace they had secured. To greet Clarke, and to never again be forced to let go.

Wanheda turns away, unable to say any more, eyes shining bright and full at the memories.

The carver contemplates the block of stone, and pours the power of the stories he's been entrusted with into his work.

Weeks pass, and then all is ready.

It seems all of Polis and beyond has gathered in The Commander's Grove. Heda Aden speaks of her legacy, recommitting the gathered clan leaders and ambassadors to peace, to breaking the cycle of revenge. A seken pulls the cloth away from the stone, and there's an awed hush.

Heda Lexa's eyes gaze towards her city. A teacher, eyes bearing a quiet wisdom and admonishment to seek the higher path. A guardian, ever vigilant over her people. And a lover, with unmatched depth of compassion for her people, her friends, her allies, and her heart's chosen.

At the base are carved three simple words. A reminder, though few who look upon the sight of the memorial to Heda Lexa, the Commander Who Walked The Path, would need it written to understand.

 _Noun. Fiyanes. Uf._

Wisdom. Compassion. Strength.

In the end, after the crowd has melted away, Wanheda stands before the monument to her houmon. The carver walks quietly to stand near her. For a while, no sound passes between them.

A moment, a heartbeat, and then Wanheda turns to face the master craftsman. The tracks of tears, held back after so long and finally shed, trace brightly over her cheeks.

"Now I am not the only one who understands who she truly was. "

And with that, Wanheda turns, at peace with the knowledge that Heda watches over her people for all eternity, and Lexa remains within her heart.


End file.
